Beam of Light
by Shekiah Rosay
Summary: After the events of The Killing Joke, Barbara will face a lot of recovery, mental and physical. But what happens when Nightwing finds out what the Joker has done and goes out to get revenge? Will Tim and Bruce be able to save Dick from himself?
1. Chapter 1

After reading The Killing Joke, my first thought was of Nightwing. What would he have done to the Joker if he found out what had been done to Barbara? I'm morbidly fascinated by the psychology of revenge and I love Dick Grayson to death, so this just kind of happened.

**Oh, and for any DC newbies, the Killing Joke is one of the most famous graphic novels in the Batman-verse. Basically (very basically) the Joker tries to prove he can turn any normal man insane simply by giving him "one bad day," and he makes Gordon his experiment. To make Gordon's ultimate bad day complete, the Joker shoots Barbara Gordon (Batgirl) through the spine, resulting in paralysis, and then emotionally traumatizes her. Google "The Killing Joke," to read more. There's a good page about it on Wikipedia.

I'm aware that I'm mixing the comic world with the New Adventures animated series, but otherwise this story is pretty well researched. Be that as it may, I anticipate certain errors in timeline continuity, etc. There's just so much to keep up with in the DC-verse! So don't hesitate to point out mistakes. I'll fix em (if it doesn't interfere with my plot, if it does, ya'll will just have to deal) and give you credit.

Hope this one turn out well - let me know (r/r)!!

* * *

As Barbara awoke in the darkness, she didn't feel the immediate inclination to open her eyes.

She needed a minute or two.

The feeling Barbara was experiencing was that of disorientation, and it wasn't scary or unfamiliar, by itself. It was the common feeling of awakening and knowing something major had happened, but not knowing what it was. Knowing that she ought to know where she was, but she didn't.

It was the sick sensation that went along with it that made her want to push away the realizations and keep her eyes closed forever. The idea that when she remembered what had gone on and left her so sleepy and confused, she would wish that she had stayed asleep forever instead.

But a sharp pain below her waist caused everything to start flooding back.

_A doorbell ringing, the sound of laughter._

_The sound of a gun, the feeling of a hot, all-consuming pain._

_The flash of a camera._

_Demanding what she had done wrong, why it had to be _her_ lying on the ground feeling so numb._

An accumulation of tears forced Barbara to open her eyes whether she wanted to or not, and the blurry outline of a sparsely-furnished hospital room materialized. She coughed once or twice and tried to focus.

"Barbara! Honey – can you hear me?"

The anxious voice above her was wonderfully familiar, but the compassion and pity it held made her want to cry all the harder.

It was Dick.

Of all people to see her like this.

"Barbara, if you can, I need you to talk to me," the voice repeated, growing more anxious.

Summoning up the strength to control her sobs, Barbara nodded.

"I'm here, Dick. I hear you."

"Oh, thank God!"

Barbara felt the sensation of cool hands closing around hers, and managed to finally clear her eyes enough to see the young man standing over her. His long black hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and dark circles surrounded his eyes like he hadn't slept for days. He also looked due for a shave.

"I feel like I should get Bruce…" Dick started, biting his lip.

"Not now. I just woke up, give me a second," Barbara said, freeing her hands and wiping away a few tears.

"But Bruce told me-"

"Not yet," Barbara repeated. "I don't need him here."

Dick sat down again, but not back in his chair. Instead, with the carefulness he would have given a porcelain doll, he sat down on the end of Barbara's hospital bed. It was all he could do not to start crying, too, but he knew that would make everything worse. Instead he focused on her face, which was as perfect as ever despite her uncharacteristically messy red hair and make-up-free face. There was some bad bruising on her neck and arms.

"Don't look at me that way!" Barbara exclaimed, bursting into tears again. Ashamed, Dick stared at the ground. Barbara continued to cry, and the feeling of depression and helpless that had settled so heavily in Dick's chest began to burn worse than ever.

"I'm sorry for staring. It's not that you look bad, I promise. I just wanted to do something to keep myself from falling apart," Dick confessed, more honestly than was his habit. "I really want to hold you, more than anything, but they told me not to pick you up."

"I know," Barbara said through her tears. "I'm sorry for getting mad at you. It's just… I don't know what to do, either."

Dick took one of Barbara's hands again, entwining his fingers with hers. She held on tightly.

"Tell me, is my father okay?"

Dick took a second to word his answer the right way. How could anyone be okay after watching his own daughter go through what Barbara had?

"They had him checked in here at the hospital right after we found everyone, but the tests showed that he's not hurt physically. He's still thinking straight, too, which makes him a far stronger man that I could be in his place."

"It's good to hear that he's alright," Barbara whispered, her throat scratchy from crying. "What about the others?"

"They're fine, Barbara," Dick sighed. "Everybody's really shaken up, of course, but they're safe. Can't we focus on you, just for once?"

"You're not going to let me peacefully live in denial, are you?" Barbara demanded sadly, though Dick could tell she was trying to make him laugh. That was definitely not going to happen. Instead, he shook his head sadly.

"Nope. Not my style. But Barbara… how are you doing? You can be honest with me. You know that."

The Batgirl's expression was vague as she gazed out the window into the gray Gotham sky.

"I'm fine, right now. But it feels unnatural. They have me drugged, don't they?"

Dick paused again, but he knew it wouldn't be any good to lie.

"Yeah. You're coming off some pretty heavy sedatives."

"No wonder. I'll probably be a mess in a few hours when I start recalling specifics. You might want to clear out before I become a total basketcase."

"I'm staying around," Dick replied staunchly. Barbara shrugged.

"Figures. Have you been here since they brought me in?"

"Well, you've been out cold for about forty-eight hours now," Dick admitted hesitantly. "So we took turns. Bruce started out, then me, and Tim after that. After your father was checked out, he took a lot of shifts too."

"You didn't tell Tim what happened?" Barbara demanded, grabbing her companion's arm with more strength than he would have believed she possessed.

"Of course Bruce skirted around the issue, but you better believe that the kid's been asking," Dick replied sadly. "Personally I think he deserves to know – "

"If you think that, then _you_ obviously don't know the whole story yourself!" Barbara snapped, her grip tightening. For just a second, Dick saw a shadow of fear and shame in Barbara's fiery, determined eyes. But it was enough to render him incapable of thought or reply.

"You can get Bruce now, if you want," Barbara announced, her tone one of dismissal. Dick nodded and departed the room calmly, but after he was out of her line of sight, he took off at a desperate run.


	2. Chapter 2

Dick ran until he found the entrance the waiting area on Barbara's floor. When he finally arrived, breathless and completely disheartened, he slammed the door and slumped down behind it, giving into the sobs that had been stinging his eyes since the moment he and Barbara had begun speaking.

After a moment or two had passed – or a few years, who could say? – Dick felt two strong hands close around his biceps and help him back to his feet before letting go. But Dick wasn't ready to let go of anything or anybody. Hardly thinking, he threw his arms around Bruce's wide, familiar shoulders.

"She woke up."

Bruce's words were a statement, not a question. Though he was still sobbing with painful intensity, Dick managed to nod into the tearstained lapel of Bruce's suit.

As opposed as Bruce was to public displays of emotion, he allowed his former partner to cry for quite some time. When it became clear that the younger man wasn't going to stop until forced to, Bruce led him over to an overstuffed green sofa and sat him down.

"Nightwing."

Bruce's voice was as low and serious as Dick had ever heard it. The fact that he had used the name of Dick's other identity also helped stop stem the tears.

"You need to understand, Barbara will recover from this."

"But she's so… small, so weak," Dick whispered, making eye contact with Bruce for the first time. Though he felt as though his words weren't making much sense, the older man nodded as though he understood. Dick continued. "She's completely broken, and it's only a matter of time before everything hits home, and I'm afraid she's going to shatter."

"Nightwing – Richard – I want you to look at me," Bruce said softly. Despite the tears that still gathered in the corners of his eyes, Dick obeyed.

"You've taken Barbara's burden on yourself," Bruce explained. "Noble as that may be, it isn't going to help her. Her healing isn't going to be easy – physically or mentally speaking. And if you're suffering just as much as she is – possibly more, from the looks of it – you're not going to be able to be the bastion of strength she will require."

"You're telling me that I'm overreacting?" Dick demanded, his expression one of incredulity. "My girlfriend has been crippled and tortured by some homicidal bastard, and you're telling me that I'm suffering too much?"

"Listen to me," Bruce repeated, more testily than before. "I'm just saying that you need to quit wallowing in self-pity. You'll be absolutely no use to her if that's the best you can do."

Though Bruce's words stung, Dick only sighed. It would be no use blowing up at the Batman now – not when he was the only source by which one could get any information about what had really gone on between Barbara and the Joker.

"She told me that I didn't know the whole story."

When Dick didn't get a reply, he gave Bruce an inquiring look. Even then, the response he got wasn't the one he was looking for.

"You probably don't."

"But you do?" Dick demanded. Bruce paused a moment, but finally nodded.

"As much as anybody."

A moment passed where no one spoke.

"Well, are you going to tell me, then?" Dick finally demanded. Bruce shook his head.

"It's not my place. Barbara will confide it to you when she chooses."

Dick gave the other superhero an expression of disgust.

"We're all in this together, in case you've forgotten," he said coldly. "How can you expect me to comfort Barbara if I only know a piece of what went on?"

"How can I expect you to deal with the rest of the story when you're already torn apart by the little that you _do_ know?" Bruce countered, no indication of apology in his dark eyes.

A final moment of silence passed as Dick jumped to his feet and grabbed his backpack off the table where he had abandoned it three nights before.

"I can't believe you!" he snapped, shaking his head. "Actually, no – I can _absolutely_ believe you. I can't believe _myself_. I should have learned by now not to expect sympathy or reason from somebody who doesn't have a heart to begin with. Oh, and call the Commissioner, would you? I'd do it myself, but my _self-pity_ might bring him down."

Dick spat the last few words as he walked out into the soulless, sterile hallway.

Bruce didn't even bother protesting as the door slammed a second time.

"Hey – Dick! Dick, wait up!"

Still angry with Bruce, Dick had almost made it to the elevator when he heard another familiar voice behind him. It was slightly less anathema, but not by much.

"Dick, is she awake?" Tim demanded, grabbing his forerunner's jacket sleeve.

"Yeah, she is. I just told Bruce, but he's being a jackass. Like that's anything new."

"Dick, you two _aren't_ fighting again…" Tim sighed, biting his lip. "Of all the times to argue…"

"Don't you preach to me too, Kid," Dick said through his teeth. "You don't know the half of what went on with Barbara, and evidently I don't either. Bruce does, of course, because he knows _everything_, and he's holding it over my head. If anybody deserves to know, it's me."

"Maybe he's afraid you'll do something rash," Tim suggested softly. "Like…"

"Like get revenge?" Dick demanded, laughing coldly. "The worst revenge I can think up for the Joker is rotting alone in a cell in Arkham Asylum, but even _that's_ too good for the son of a bitch."

"See?" Tim replied pointedly. "You're already going there. Bruce knew you would. All it would take was knowing everything that happened, and you'd totally go off the deep end!"

"So you're taking his side?"

"No!" Tim replied, shaking his head helplessly. "I'm just saying that maybe Bruce had a point! Barbara needs you here more than she needs you going on some crazy rampage to bring the Joker to justice."

Dick laughed humorlessly.

"Bruce always has a point. He's like the Joker that way – they both always think they're a step ahead of everybody else."

"Dick!"

"What?" Nightwing demanded, shrugging dramatically. "It's the truth, and you know it. I'm going to do some research. Batman doesn't always have the answers."

"I can't stop you," Tim said quietly. "But be careful. Maybe you really _don't_ want to know everything that actually happened. Bruce may be self-righteous, but he's wise. He's been both CEO of Wayne Industries _and_ the Dark Knight for so many years for a reason."

Robin had hardly finished talking before the elevator doors closed and obscured Dick's cold, determined expression from view.


	3. Chapter 3

The Gotham City Police Department was always plenty busy, with or without the aid of the Batman. In the evening, ordinarily, things were just beginning to hum. The additional officers necessary for the night shift were just arriving and getting ready. Kevlar was strapped on and extra-strong coffee was sipped; pleasantries were exchanged.

However, when Nightwing burst through the doors in full costume, everything came to an abrupt halt. An entire office full of people mobbed him at once. Their demands pelted him like grapeshot, and stung equally as fiercely. What had happened to Batgirl was none of their business. And they didn't have the right to rub in the pain.

"Do you have any news about Barbara?" Gordon's secretary demanded, her expectant and shrill voice breaking through the general hubbub. Dick felt his throat go thick, and knew he would have to make his answer brief.

"She's awake and stable. Now please, I have work to do."

The crowd's roar became anxious murmurs, and they hesitantly allowed Dick passage through to the inner offices. That was the heart of Gotham's official force of justice. Barbara and the commissioner worked side-by-side there on the files of Gotham's most notorious. Naturally, the documents and evidence from the Joker's crime would arrive there for processing first.

Right as Dick was reaching for the door, someone stepped into his path. Detective Bullock stood directly in the way, raising an eyebrow.

"We were specifically ordered not to allow access to this room to _anybody_," he said tersely.

"I'm on an investigative mission on behalf of the Comissioner," Dick said quickly. It amazed him how effortlessly the lie slid out. A bit of a smile appeared on Bullock's face.

"Not bad. But try again. _Our_ orders came directly from the Comissioner as well."

Dick's first instinct was to come up with another excuse, but he stopped short, realizing he was wasting valuable time. Bullock, that smart-mouthed imbecile of a cop, should know better than to stand between him and his revenge.

Nightwings's anger flared. Before he could stop himself, he had Bullock held at arms' length by the throat.

"You obviously don't know who you're dealing with," he hissed.

Dropping Bullock on the floor –where the officer quickly and conveniently passed out – Dick stepped over the threshold of the proverbial point-of-no-return.

The office looked deceptively harmless. In fact, the only thing that had changed following the Joker's latest crime was the brown cardboard box that sat seemingly untouched beside Gordon's computer.

Not giving himself time to feel fear or hesitance, Dick tossed the lid off the box and peered inside. Though he would never admit it following the incident, Dick had to grab the side of Gordon's desk to ensure that _he_ didn't pass out and hit the floor.

Bruce was right. He certainly hadn't known the extent of the Joker's abuse.

The room swam for a few minutes, and Nightwing almost imagined that he could hear the sounds of Barbara's screams and pleading. The images on the polaroids in the box seemed to come alive around him. Their gruesome, macabre reality sickened him. Barbara's contorted face and bare, bleeding body were forever to be stamped in his memory. It was impossible to think.

That is, until the rage took over again. And it was stronger than before.

Dick couldn't imagine that he had ever felt an emotion as strong as the anger he felt when he got to his feet again. In fact, it was strong enough that rather than animalize him as his former anger had, it became a source of cool rationality.

With absolutely steady fingers, Dick pulled out all the photos and thumbed through them silently. Each one was more disgusting than the last, but he betrayed no emotion as he put them aside. The items in the bottom half of the box were assorted in nature. The green sweater Barbara had been wearing when she answered the door was folded neatly, though it was a muddy color from all the bloodstains.

Alongside the sweater lay a few other trinkets, such as a light blue glove and a pocketwatch that had been found at the scene of the crime. Both the Joker's, no doubt, but neither would have any traceable prints. None of his effects ever had.

Nightwing knew that he was tampering with the integrity of the evidence, but it hardly mattered at that point. Justice wasn't going to depend on the interference of the law. He would ensure that the Joker got what he deserved, and the long and winding channels of bureaucracy weren't going to delay the process.

Finally there remained only a lone Joker playing card, stained also with blood that was undoubtedly Barbara's.

Perhaps that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Or, who knew? Perhaps the camel's back had long since broken.

Either way, it was that discovery that brought Dick's rage to a frightening climax. Taking a shallow breath and stepping back out the door and then over Bullock, who was still out cold, Nightwing walked back through the police station to the squad car he had "borrowed" back at the hospital. He internally dared someone to try to stop him, but nobody did. Finally, he gunned the motor and pulled out to the freeway – en route to Arkham Island.


	4. Chapter 4

Dick turned on the siren and flashing lights of the car and took off the Nightwing mask. Though he still wore the rest of his costume, he figured it was dark enough that none of the passing drivers would identify the insignia. The driving itself would be nearly effortless that way – he could weave in and out of traffic as he pleased if all of the civilian drivers assumed he was legitimately a police officer. It would hardly take twenty minutes to get to Arkham at that rate.

As he took off down the freeway, the siren was louder than life, but it did nothing to drown out the screaming in his own head.

How dare Bruce not tell him what had happened? How dare Tim warn him not to get involved? How dare Barbara…

What _had_ Barbara done?

Dick didn't know. He didn't care, either. He just knew that his anger was striking out against everyone in the entire world. Logically, he knew the Joker was to blame, but he had far too much rage to focus it in on a single man. The Joker was going down, and anybody who got in the way was going down, too.

So there.

Just barely making it through a yellow light, Dick crossed over onto the bridge to Arkham Island. He could hear the dull, hollow sound of the polluted water underneath and randomly wondered what would happen if the bridge collapsed and he tumbled into that tumultuous cesspool.

It wouldn't matter, he finally decided. As soon as he could get out of the submerged car, he would start swimming and end up at Arkham that way.

He wasn't going to be stopped. That's all there was to it.

Fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately – there were no bridge collapses. Dick found himself navigating the dark streets of the Gotham Narrows even sooner than he could have suspected.

There was, actually, one minor deterrent. A gang of what appeared to be misdirected high school students decided it would be badass to stand in the way of his car and make faces. Dick imagined it was for reasons like that that the GCPD always went out to the Narrows en masse. More intimidation equals less threat, after all.

The gang held out for an impressively long time. However, when Dick gunned the motor of the four-cylinder sedan (even though it sounded absolutely pathetic) they scattered quickly.

Bet they'd never lost a game of chicken to a cop car before that day.

Heheh.

Arkham loomed out of the darkness soon after that, appearing to resemble a 1930s silent film representation of Dracula's castle. The Arkham family had been quite eccentric; that really went without saying. Putting their strangeness to good use – at least as they saw it – they constructed a medieval architectural monstrosity in the heart of metropolitan Gotham city, lived in it for a couple of years, and then donated it to the government to be used as an insane asylum.

To each their own, Dick decided.

He hadn't ever really had anything against Jeremiah Arkham or any of his family. Hopefully the doctor wouldn't be in that evening, because if he was, he would undoubtedly get in the way.

And as Dick had previously decided, that would be unwise.

He parked the car right in front of the entrance – a privilege reserved for civil servants – and pulled his mask back on. When he got out, he carelessly slammed the door shut and took off running up the steps. As the heavy oak door loomed before him, however, Nightwing realized that it would probably look suspicious to arrive breathless at the front desk. He tried to compose himself as quickly as possible before entering.

The asylum had this eerie, peaceful aura about it during the night. It was unnerving at first but decidedly preferable to the gurneys and straightjackets that circulated during daylight hours. Nightwing approached the front desk, his clenched fists hidden by the tall counter where the night watchmen sat.

"I'm here for an interrogation," Dick said casually. "On Batman's behalf."

"Of course," the officer replied, obviously familiar with the fact that Batman pretty much ran Arkham. "What patient do you need to see?

"The Joker."

Dick hoped the malice dripping from his voice wasn't as obvious to anyone else as it was to him. Though the watchman paused and bit his lip, Dick's tone was not the reason.

"I'm sorry, sir, but our orders regarding the Joker are very specific. He's in solitary right now, and won't be allowed out until the day of his trial."

"From whom did these orders originate?" Nightwing demanded.

"Commissioner Gordon," the man replied. "He was pretty firm."

Nightwing felt as though he should have been daunted, but he definitely wasn't.

"Gordon operates here at Arkham under Batman's authority," he explained, though he knew it was technically the other way around. "Orders from the Batman override his."

The watchman still looked unconvinced.

"John, what do you think?" he asked, turning to his fellow officer. John didn't bother looking up from his newspaper.

"You should know by now, Tony, Batman's word is law," he said gruffly. "Dr. Arkham sure bitches about it enough."

Nightwing probably would have smirked, under any other circumstances. However, he was in too much of a hurry. Not waiting for a confirmation from the original officer – Tony, evidently – he took off at a jog for the solitary confinement wing of the Asylum. Patients craned in their cells to get a look at him, but Dick hardly noticed. He was so focused that he was actually surprised when he found himself in front of the Joker's cell so suddenly.

Cell 24F. Same as always.

With trembling fingers, Nightwing keyed in the code that would unlock the Joker's door. As it swung open, he braced himself to tackle the cell's occupant.

But nothing happened.


	5. Chapter 5

Hitting the light switch with a wide sweep of his arm, Dick stepped into the freezing cold interior of the cell. The first sight that met his eyes was that of a straightjacketed Joker looking up at him from where he sat on the side of the cot, silently smiling.

And that was all it took.

Grabbing the straps of the straightjacket, Nightwing threw the criminal against the stone wall beside the cot. As his head made contact the Joker began to laugh, and only stopped when he landed, slumped on the floor like a child's toy. The noise his collisions against the floor and the walls had made seemed to resound – any normal person probably would have passed out.

But that wasn't what Dick wanted anyway.

"Hello, big-grown-up Bird Boy," the Joker said brightly, continuing to smile as a stream of blood ran down from his hairline to his chin. "Need something?"

"I've come to end you," Nightwing hissed. "On your feet, Clown."

"A guy who knows what he wants," the Joker commented as he stood, balancing as easily as if he had worn a straightjacket for most of his life. "I like that."

"You're coming with me," Nightwing said, taking hold of the straightjacket again.

The Joker shrugged, as well as he could, and walked out of the cell ahead of the former Robin. The two headed down the corridor to the left. As they rounded a corner, Nightwing pushed the Joker, wanting him to go more quickly, and the latter lost his footing and landed on his knees on the ground. Nightwing responded only by getting in front and dragging his companion until the latter managed to stagger back to his feet again.

"What's the hurry?" the Joker demanded, examining his scuffed knees with distaste.

"You hurt Barbara," Dick replied simply, jerking the Joker again. This time, the Clown Prince managed to keep his footing, despite the fact that they had begun their ascent up a rather long flight of stairs.

"Is that all?" he demanded, laughing. "I've blown up whole buildings of people and gotten away with it. Now I rough up the Commissioner's kid a little and you people throw the book at me."

Disgusted, Dick shoved the Joker against the wall again. This time, the other side of his face made contact, and he gained another streaming wound that served to create some symmetry.

"Is this going to be a thing with you?" the Joker inquired, stumbling back to his feet again as Dick continued to climb the staircase. "Because I've heard hitting your head a lot can mess you up. I don't want to lose my mind, or anything."

Dick grunted.

"So I don't get an answer?" the Joker asked. Dick paused in the middle of the stairway, holding the bleeding Joker off to the side as casually as a woman might hold her purse while deciding between two dresses in a department store.

"No, I'm afraid you'll lose consciousness eventually," he finally responded, giving obvious thought to his answer. "And I want you to feel the impact of the ground once I throw you off the roof."

"Oh," the Joker said, as though this was an entirely valid excuse. He continued to follow Nightwing as the latter started walking again. "You know, kid, I'm beginning to think you made a mistake when you teamed up with the Batman. You and I would have been a pretty good pair."

Nightwing ignored him completely.

"But seriously," the Joker persisted as they stepped out of the stairwell into the cold night air. "You had one bad day, and you're talking about throwing people off of buildings. Gordon's experience didn't go quite as planned, but my little experiment might have worked after all. You have potential!"

Again, he got no response. Finally, when they approached the side of the building, the Joker spoke up one more time.

"This is the part where you get all defensive and say that you would be far too noble to join me or sink to my level," he suggested.

Nightwing gave him a smirk, but it was cold and terrifying. Lifting the Joker up with a single arm, he dangled him over the edge of Arkham's steep wall over a busy, decrepit street of the narrows.

"Actually, this is the part where you shut up. Permanently."


End file.
